


Drift

by sideoftea (orphan_account)



Series: DimiClaude Week 2020 [1]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst, Claumitri, DimiClaudeWeek2020, Dreams, Hopeful Ending, M/M, Post-Canon, Reunion, Spoilers for Post-Timeskip | War Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Winter, dimiclaude, prompt, verdant wind
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-02
Updated: 2020-01-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:21:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22087837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/sideoftea
Summary: It has been about a year since the war has ended. Claude's been having recurring dreams about a frozen wasteland and the cloak of a lost king lying still, in a snowbank.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Claude von Riegan
Series: DimiClaude Week 2020 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1589980
Comments: 8
Kudos: 53





	Drift

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Day 1 of DimiClaude Week 2020!
> 
> Prompt: Dreams/Winter
> 
> Type: Post-Verdant Wind AU. Contains a few major spoilers for this route.

The color of a blue, fur-lined cloak peppered against the backdrop of a gray snowdrift. It never failed to present itself. Sometime, somehow, the plot of another midnight hallucination converged into this singular image. There it loomed menacingly in the bleak frozen wasteland of a nightmare, but he could never bring himself to cross to it. Even in a state of subconscious, the weighted brevity of his judgment eliminated any chance of engaging. It was pointless. He knew it would only end in an assault of dull, aching pain and guilt. If he touched the cloak his brain would probably conjure up some horrible image of it being consumed by blood, or it would disintegrate in his hands like a sickening metaphor. 

Instead, the realization of a dream would stir Claude awake, and he would clasp his own shoulder, the cold sweat manifesting despite the humidity of an Almyran winter’s night. Knowing from experience that it was pointless to try to sleep again, Claude rose, slipping into a thin, brown linen robe. He passed through the long hallway outside his room, memorizing every single detail of the portraits that lined the walls. There was one that always struck him, fixed in place as the third-from-last painting on the left, right before the hallway filtered into a common room. It was of a simple oak tree, in winter, with icicles descending from its thick branches. There were two very small figures at the base of the tree. Although blurry, Claude had deemed them to likely be children, bundled in woolen cloaks for the season. The picture was blended with ambiguous hues of blue, black, and white, with one striking splash of red residing on the ribbon the children had assumedly tied around the trunk. It was ominous, yet always strangely comforting on these nights. 

It was windy out on the balcony, bits of aerial sand causing the king’s eyes to form tears, but not causing him to wince. There were tiny orbs of orange glow emanating from a few of the homes at the bottom of the hill, possibly candles that were not snuffed out, reaching the end of their wick. Claude leaned forward, folding his arms on the stucco railing, feeling his neck ignite with shivers from the ease of tension. He always carried stress very high in his shoulders and tightly in his jaw. Marianne had been working with him on meditation practices recently. He had been taking her advice to heart, attempting to loosen up every moment he became self-aware to the discomfort. Cupping his chin in his palm seemed to be a good strategy, as he could physically tug his lower jaw downwards in an effort to unhinge it. His gaze ascended up to the stars, as it always did, and for a moment Claude thought the cosmic lights could be snowflakes, but no. Rather, in this climate, the snowflakes remained immovable, sewn into the fabric of space by the hands of the divine.

“You’re awake.”

Claude did not even have to shift his position to know these were the words of Hilda. Without seeing her he assumed her typically luscious, pink hair was matted and dry, chaotically springing out in every direction. Her face was probably hallowed and flushed, and her eyes sunken like the gatekeeper’s when on night duty. Whenever Hilda complained about needing beauty sleep, she wasn’t joking around.

“You look terrible.” I guess he was no prize either.

“Good evening to you too, Hilda.”

“You couldn’t sleep either? Ugh. This weather is awful. I practically had to peel the bedsheets off my skin.”

“You get used to it.”

“I’d rather not. Don’t get me wrong, I love visiting you, but this is a lot for me.”

“Fine. We can stay at your place next time.”

“Aw, that’s a relief!” Hilda chirped, joining him at the railing. “You alright? You seem more lost in thought than usual.”

“I’ve been having dreams again Hilda,” Claude began morosely, feeling slightly comforted by Hilda resting her head against his shoulder, “About the war. About well…”

“Dimitri.”

“Yes. At least, vaguely so.”

“It kills me to see you feel so guilty.”

“I know it does.”

“We helped so many people Claude. All thanks to you.”

“I know, but…”

“...But not him,” Hilda nodded knowingly, recalling their similar conversations before. 

“I should have chased after him. Why didn’t I?”

“If you had Claude, you may not have lived to see through the war, which would have made everything  _ a lot _ worse.”

“I never thought he would act so reckless. I always knew him to be so collected. So disciplined,” Claude breathed, pausing a moment, “Now I don’t know what to think.”

“You know as well as I do that Dimitri wasn’t himself, and it was awful. But I think deep down he was still there. He spared us after all.”

“I’m not sure if I mentioned it. I’m not even sure if it actually happened or if it was my imagination,” Claude started, carefully finding the words, “But when we fought there was a moment I saw his face change, and… and he looked terrified.” Claude’s speech started to break, and Hilda, without missing a beat, hugged him tightly from the side.

“Claude…”

“It was like he was aware of his lack of control. There was so much regret and he wanted to stop… but, but he just couldn’t.”

“We did everything we could Claude. You have to believe me when I say that.”

“He just needed help. We could’ve helped him!” Claude aggressively ripped away from Hilda’s embrace, his hands intensely grasping the balcony’s railing until his knuckles became an angry red.

“We tried. He was too far gone,” Hilda spoke softly, feeling her eyes dampening from the memory.

“He had already been through so much, and despite that worked tirelessly. He confided in me all these hopes and dreams he had for the brighter future of his Kingdom, and all of F ó dlan. Dreams that weren’t so different from my own… and to have it end like, like that...” Claude trailed off, punctuating his speech by shaking his head as his breathing steadied. “I’m sorry Hilda, I don’t mean to dwell on the past.”

“You have always focused on the future. I think it’s okay to allow some time to reflect on the past.” Although Hilda’s words were somewhat corny by nature, it was possibly the sincerest Claude had ever heard her sound. Her hand soon enveloped the back of his, allowing his grip to relax. 

“All these years, and you still manage to put my running thoughts into perspective. How do you do it?” Claude managed a small chuckle.

“Instinct I guess. I’m almost as good at organizing thoughts as I am swinging around an axe.” Hilda’s warm smile returned, signaling the friends’ conversation to slip into a consoling silence. They looked up at the moon that was peeking through a few dark purple clouds.

“I’m not the most spiritual person, but I like to think we will see him again someday,” Claude mused, mentally casting his wish out into the great unknown.

“Oh! Maybe it will be just like reuniting at Garreg Mach! But, you know, we will all like each other again and we won’t have to go to class or take any stupid exams.”

“I’d like that.”

The darkest hour of the night dissipated, allowing hints of glow from a morning sunrise to pepper the horizon. The former war heroes sauntered away from the balcony, Hilda agreeing to spend the rest of the night in Claude’s room. Passing through the hall, Claude caught sight of the particular painting once again, imagining it accurately depicting the current state of Fhirdiad’s climate. Back in the bedroom, Hilda threw open a set of large windows to the merciful welcome of cool, nighttime desert air. They sighed delightfully, wondering if perhaps the Kingdom’s winter was dropping by with a small gift. Sprawling out on top of the thin sheets, the duo managed to soak up a few more hours of sleep, reassured by one another’s proximity.

\- - - 

It was a pond this time. Not quite frozen but encased by slush at the edges. It was in the midst of a pine forest, such as the ones found across Faerghus and in northern parts of Alliance territory. He recalled a fish, probably a herring, causing bubbles to pop on the water’s surface while darting away, startled. A gentle breeze, musical in renown, rustled through the slits between pine needles. Claude walked leisurely around the pond, entranced by a large snowdrift collecting above a fallen tree. As expected, a flash of royal blue materialized under the king’s feet. He held his breath, nearly stopping himself, before deciding to reach out for it.

But it was not war-torn or gruesome. It did not disappear. In fact, it was exceptionally warm, the fur lining the color impossibly soft to the touch. Claude did not hesitate to collect it in his arms, holding it to himself closely, relieved to finally clutch onto something he had previously feared. The sensation was like a thousand embraces at once. It was the celebratory chorus of liberation. The fireplace that continued to burn when all signs of life were gone. The soft crunch of thick, metallic boots sinking into crisp, fresh snow. 

“Claude.” He did not react at first. Afraid if he moved too quickly he would lose this moment, that the excitement would cause him to stir awake to the harsh reality of a morning’s sunlight. Eventually his anticipation proved victorious, as he bravely raised his head to the sound of a loving voice.

“It really is you.”

“Kind of rude to keep a guy waiting don’t ya think?” Claude could only laugh at Dimitri’s failed attempt to imitate him.

“Impersonations were never your strong suit.”

“Ah, but you understood I was impersonating you.” Claude shook his head, leaping into the savior king’s arms. Although heavy with the nuance of a dream, Dimitri felt real, substantial. Claude recognized the repetition of his breathing, the way his hand cupped Claude’s lower back, even his scent. 

“I’ve missed you.”

“I have as well. Like the stars miss a new moon.”

“It is really you, right? I mean, I have an active imagination, but this seems downright ethereal.”

“It wouldn’t be the first time the veil between the worlds of the living and dead was lifted.”

“Well what do ya know? I have a spooky ghost boyfriend who haunts my dreams. Can’t say I saw that coming,” Claude laughed softly, if not a bit forlorn.

“There are worse fates I suppose,” Dimitri chuckled with him.

“Yeah, I suppose…”

“Claude. I want to know everything,” Dimitri heaved, suddenly cradling his lover’s hand in his palms.

“What do you mean?” Claude questioned, growing more agitated with the initial joy of a reunion slipping away.

“Every battle, every decision, every incredible display of leadership enacted to bring your dreams to fruition!”

“Do you actually care to know all that?” Claude huffed, averting his gaze.

“Of course my beloved,” Dimitri gasped, “I’m very proud. You were able to do what I was far too foolish to accomplish.”

“I just wanted to build the world we sought to build together,” Claude stated simply. Dimitri moved to brush a gloved finger along his lover’s cheek but was met with a head that turned away reluctantly. “So why? Why did you try to throw that all away?”

“I won’t pretend I’m not weighed down by the sins committed by my own hand-”

“This isn’t about sin Dimitri. This is about the fact that you let friends,  _ our friends,  _ die for no reason! You practically set your nation on fire to selfishly pursue your own bloodlust.”

“...”

“I thought you were dead. I spent over five years grieving over the lost prince of Faerghus. You never reached out. Not even so much as a letter?”

“I couldn’t let you see me. I was a monster. You...” Dimitri confessed, still shakily gripping Claude’s hand, on the verge of breaking, “You deserved much better than that.”

“You were hurt. I wouldn’t have hesitated to help you.”

“I would have been a distraction. How were you to bring about a new age of peace while tending to my struggles? I had to make sacrifices in order to better the lives of others.”

“Sacrifices?!” Claude roared, “Don’t act like you were some sort of martyr Dimitri. You were a damn coward!” 

“I- I deserve every shred of your anger…” Dimitri choked, Claude’s words striking into him like a dull blade.

“I don’t  _ want  _ to be angry at you,” Claude grunted, the bottom curve of his palm aggressively pressing into the bridge of his nose. “I just wish to  _ understand _ .”

“I was wrong. That’s all there is to say. I was so fixated on avenging the dead I lost sight of what truly mattered…”

“...”

“But I understand it’s too late to make up for it now. I… I can take my leave.”

“Just like that, huh? You’re going to disappear on me again?”

“You’re being impossible.”

“I’m impossible?!”

“I don’t know what you want Claude!”

“I want you to stay!” Claude fell to his knees, the bitter cold of snow stinging his exposed skin. “I want you to stay...” Just like that. The master tactician, the very model of courage, strength, and composure for so many during the war and beyond, allowed himself to weep. Tears plummeted from his eyes like dragons awakening from a thousand-year slumber. And it was incredible. His shoulders therapeutically cast away its heavy burdens. A mask that spent countless years protecting a soft heart brimming with good intention, shattered into several pieces from the graceful hand of vulnerability. Dimitri was quickly at his side, wrapping him in the thick, blue cloak.

“I’m right here, Claude,” Dimitri whispered, allowing the king’s tears to speckle his collarbone. The howl of freezing wind droned on, swirling around the reconciliation that was long overdue. Claude felt the cold steel of Dimitri’s armor slice into the emotional heat that consumed his cheek. It served as a gentle reminder of his presence. For him, Dimitri was like a solid pillar of reliability in a world wrought with deception. The cruel irony conjured from this realization happening after Dimitri had deceased. But now, with everything passed, there were no longer stakes. All that lay there was a still pond, a snowdrift molding with the wind, and a few birds fluttering around the high branches of an oak tree.

“Dima-”

“Hush. You needn’t speak. All you need to know is that I am here now, as I should have been so many years ago.”

Peace. Then, a small patch of snow melting underneath them. A circle that steadily grew outward, small blades of spring grass poking out of the ground like happy little surprises. Claude gazed downward, admiring a humble daisy whose petals unfurled in the crisp sunlight. And in this metaphysical transformation of seasons, Claude found a new confidence. To love again. To trust again. He rose, lovingly tracing the water stains left on his cheek. He removed Dimitri’s glove, so he could appreciate the scars marking the hand that had simultaneously committed multiple good deeds and atrocities.

“Will I be able to visit you again?”

“Of course. I will be here once you are ready to pass on, alongside everyone.”

“Could we maybe meet someplace warmer next time?” Claude finally grinned.

“I’ll work on it,” Dimitri smiled in return.

“I only wish we could have achieved our goals together. Life was so cruel to you.”

“Life itself is cruel. But watching you, the person I loved the most, achieve our dreams is enough to make me happy.”

“There’s still so much I want to do.”

“Then make the most of it.”

“Thank you Dima. Thank you for giving me a reason to keep fighting.” 

“I should be thanking you for being my bright star in an endless sea of darkness.”

“Pft. So eloquent. If you weren’t busy being strong-armed into becoming a King, maybe you could have been a poet,” Claude teased, tugging at Dimitri’s cheek.

“I’m afraid not. People would grow bored of all my poems being about you. Besides, I could hardly hold onto a quill without it snapping in half.” Dimitri proceeded to snog Claude’s neck, an act that never failed to elicit a giggle from the suave king. “Ah, how I longed to hear that sweet laugh.”

“You flatter me, your highness.”

“I don't think you can call me that anymore.” 

“I disagree. You’re still someone I can look up too.” Dimitri hugged him even tighter.

“I will see you soon. If you ever feel lost, remember that the stars are watching over you.”

“Until we meet again.”

“I love you, Claude. With all my heart.”

“I love you too, Dima. I always have.”

An embrace. A kiss. The feeling of wind whipping through their hair. A brief moment of suspension.

\- - -

And then sunlight. Claude groggily rolled over in his bed, fighting off the sheets that trapped his legs. He rose, a suffocating warmth surrounding his shoulders. He looked down to see the brown linen robe had been replaced with the cloak from his dreams, complete with blue velvet and a soft fur-lined collar. 

_ It’s a nice gesture Dimitri, but it’s already so hot here. Are you trying to kill me so you can see me sooner?  _ Claude thought to himself, greatly amused. He remained wearing the heavy cloak and crossed to the great window, seeing a great amount of people already bustling about in the marketplace below. A rap was heard at his door.

“You finally awake, Claude?”

“Depends on your definition of awake.”

“Come on, hurry up! I made us breakfast,” Hilda commanded, opening the door.

“You made breakfast?”

“Well. I re-heated last night’s leftovers… I’m trying to do something nice, alright?” Hilda stopped in her tracks upon seeing Claude’s outfit. “Woah. Okay. You have a lot to tell me over breakfast, don’t you?”

“I hope you’re ready. It’s a doozy.” 

“Let’s go then! It’s not polite to keep your best friend waiting,” Hilda smirked.

“Be right there.”

Hilda bounded off, leaving Claude a moment to breathe and fully shake off his sleepiness. He sauntered out of his room, holding the warmth of the fur close to his neck, and holding his head high. Despite not being very accustomed to monarchical behavior, he felt genuinely regal. A flame was ignited inside him. It wasn’t just a desire to create meaningful change, but a firm belief that it was possible.

He once again passed the influential painting in the hall. He took care to notice it as he always did, and thus, quickly affirmed it looked different. The oak tree was now covered in red ribbons. The tree’s branches dripped with moisture of melting snow. Sunlight peeked through the sky, and patches of grass with small daisies greeted him. With some of the snow melted he noticed there was in fact a small pond, previously obscured by the camouflage of ambiguous white and gray hues. And there, in the bottom-right corner were the two figures. They resembled the King of Almyra and his lost lover, standing hand-in-hand, awaiting the impending Spring.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! <3
> 
> Feel free to follow me on Twitter: @PerfectTeatime_


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